Tuesday, 24 January 2012

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes;Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Ding-dong.Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.

... under the weather (in divers fashion, w/o the pearls) here of late, it's cheering (and necessary) to remember that, yes, there is always a later...

(and for that matter, come to think of it, that black plane of ridge, that flapping gull, these ARE the pearls of a generous dailiness... which we owe to you!)

Nick,

Great to hear from you, and yes I do remember, through all these intervening years of fogs and clouds -- that little classroom up above the creek in Dwinelle, our earnest poetry nights, when all the world was young(er).

Given your screenwriting experience, there is substance (and encouragement) for me in your words --

"the online photo meditation as a form in itself"

-- because, in fact, that is exactly the form this medium has latterly disclosed to me, at a stage when it appeared way too late to learn anything new.

Thanks very much, and do come again when you have the chance, for the meditations shall continue here as long as the ever fickle gods may be so good as to permit (or perhaps I should say, as long as they're looking the other way!).

Those fickle gods had hid your words in the barn till just a moment ago... when they came as small points of light, as your words always do.

Yes, the bright highlights on the pearl, the lower lip, the eyes, these are the guiding stars that illuminate the celestial constellation of Vermeer's great genius to us mere earthlings.

I always bow my head in modesty before the work of this artist, as before the numberless splendours of the night sky (in the rare urban moments when those splendours become briefly visible through the mists, the clouds, the smog and reflected light-pollution, that is).